All That Glitters
by acetamide
Summary: Uther leaves Arthur as Prince Regent in charge the Kindgom while he goes to visit the border land. This co-incides with the arrival of a visitor to the palace; and old friend of Uthers who happens to be a sorcorer. Final part of the In Your Honour verse.
1. Hit The Ground Running

_Hit The Ground Running_

Arthur is woken by an insistent knocking on his door, and when he cracks his eyes open, it's still dark outside and he can hear the rain pouring down.

"Go away," he calls out, aware that he sounds childish and grumpy, and Merlin grunts beside him. The knocking stops briefly.

"Sire, the King requests your presence in the Great Hall."

"He's not getting it," Arthur retorts, and Merlin's arm snakes over his chest. "I'm asleep."

"He says that it's urgent, sire, and if you refuse, I should bring you forcibly."

"I'd like to see you try," he mutters as the warlock presses his lips lightly against his shoulder, and he sighs. "Tell him I'll be there momentarily."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur listens as the guard's footsteps fade, and closes his eyes, fully intent on going back to sleep, but Merlin pushes at his side firmly.

"Fine, I'm going," he grumbles and his advisor shifts off him so that he can sit up with a yawn, running a hand through his hair and scratching his chest. He reaches out blindly to brush his hand against Merlin's cheek, then rolls out of bed. His joints are aching.

"I'll not be long," he murmurs as he pulls on clothes haphazardly in the dark, and hears what could be a noise of acquiescence from behind him as he shuts the door quietly.

This had better be good.

* * *

"I have just received urgent news of an uprising near the border to Sendrighs and I must depart immediately to prevent war between our kingdoms. You'll be Regent whilst I'm gone."

Arthur blinks, still mostly asleep, as he walks into the room. Uther had started talking before he was even halfway through the door.

"Why can't I go? You're needed more here, surely?" he contends and Uther turns to him, takes in his attire, and frowns.

"Those aren't your clothes," he points out, voice stern. Arthur looks down at him and realises that no, they're not – he's barefoot and wearing a blue tunic and breeches that are an inch too short. He shrugs.

"Mine are being washed, I'm borrowing Merlin's," he explains with a wave, "but that's irrelevant. What's with the urgency? And what is it that means I can't do it? I've never acted as Regent before, how long will you be gone for?"

"A few weeks, at a guess. And being Regent is not a chore, Arthur. Gaius can help you if necessary, but I wouldn't think that you'd need it at all."

Arthur yawns, not bothering to hide it, and leans heavily against his chair. The torches are burning low in their brackets, casting long shadows, and Uther is fully dressed and ready to leave.

"If you're sure that you don't want me to do this for you...?" he offers, resting his chin on his forearms where they lay on the back of his chair, and Uther shakes his head, moving to leave.

"You're better off here. Merlin and Gaius can help if you encounter any difficulties."

"I wasn't aware that you had that much faith in Merlin."

"I don't," Uther snaps, turning back to him as he reaches the doors. "But you clearly do. Oh, and Arthur?"

The Prince forces his eyes to stay open as his father peers at him.

"Don't forget, we're holding a banquet in nine days."

Arthur drops his head onto his arms again.

* * *

"I don't _believe_ him," he groans as he sits back down onto his bed five minutes later, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his knee. The warlock's face is pressed into his pillow. "He's appointed me Prince Regent whilst he goes off gallivanting at the borders, and only sees fit to tell me this as he's leaving, and expects me to be OK with this. Merlin, are you listening?"

"Of course, I wasn't trying to sleep or anything," his advisor grumbles, but he hauls himself onto his back anyway, arm thrown above his head and glaring up through sleepy eyes. Arthur can't resist himself and bends his head to kiss him briefly, feeling Merlin smiling even as he pulls away. "Not that I don't appreciate the affection, but… I thought you were complaining about Uther."

"Yes, I was," Arthur growls, settling himself down beside Merlin on top of the covers and the warlock curls into his side as best he can. "What's worse, we're holding a banquet for the nearby towns in nine days and I've got to organise it now. Morgana will be in her element, I bet she'll make this deliberately hard for me."

"You should have more faith in her," Merlin admonishes gently, nuzzling his neck, and Arthur feels the tension fading. And even though it's hard to stay angry when all he can feel is overwhelming love and contentment washing over him, he can still hold onto his last shred of resentment.

"I grew up with her," he retorts, but even now his tone is belied by his hands, which are tracing patterns over his advisor's back. "I ran out of faith after she deliberately washed my clothes so that they came out bright pink. I still don't know how she managed that."

He feels Merlin's chuckle through his ribs, and sighs.

"I'm not going to get any sympathy from you, am I?" he asks wryly, staring up at his hangings, and Merlin shakes his head.

"Not at this time at night, anyway. Now get my clothes off and come to bed. You're probably stretching them."

Arthur wonders once more how it came to this, but complies anyway.

Merlin is snoring lightly by the time he climbs in beside him, and the prince gathers him into his arms before drifting off himself.

* * *

"Are you in a more charitable mood this morning?" Merlin asks as he throws cold water over his face, and Arthur glares at him from where he's picking at his breakfast.

"I don't know, are you?" he snaps back, and his advisor gives him an affronted look. He immediately feels bad but doesn't apologise.

"I just think that there's probably a reason why Uther's doing this, that's all," he retorts, throwing his washcloth across the room. It sparks gold and hits Arthur's head. "I think this is a perfect opportunity to show him that you are perfectly capable of leading the country yourself with no major mishaps. You ought to stop feeling so sorry for yourself and just get on with it."

"It's easy for you to say," he mutters, discarding of the washcloth angrily and knowing that Merlin's right, but he's in a stubborn mood this morning and the warlock is one of the few people that won't stand for it. Morgana is another.

"When I was appointed your manservant, did I complain about having it thrust upon me? No, I got on with it, despite you being a prat. When I was promoted to advisor, did I complain? No, I got on with it. You can do the same."

Arthur sighs, and for the second time in twelve hours drops his head onto his forearms. He hears Merlin walk up behind him, footsteps sure and steady on the cold stone floor and then his advisor's hands are warm on his neck, on tangling in his hair and other reaching down to slide under his tunic and against his chest.

"I'm acting like an idiot, aren't I?" he asks hopelessly, and Merlin drops his forehead to Arthur's hair. When he speaks, the Prince can feel his breath over his neck and he shivers.

"You're just getting worked up about nothing. I'm going to be here to help you the whole time, you know that. You've been attending large banquets since you were able to talk, and I'll ask Gwen to keep Morgana out of your way. You'll be _fine_ – stop worrying so much."

"You keep me sane, Merlin," he replies, almost reverently as he sits up straight, and with a laugh and a press of lips to his hair Merlin releases him and walks through to his own room, returning with clean clothes.

"Only because nobody else will, let's be honest," he points out, and Arthur grins.

Then there's another bout of knocking at his door accompanied by Morgana's voice. There's a mischievous lilt to it that he can hear through the oak even though he can't make out what she's saying.

"You're going to give yourself a headache if you keep doing that, you know," Merlin observes mildly as he goes to answer the door.

Arthur merely grunts from where his head is buried and prays for the floor to swallow him up.

* * *

_You'll never know if you don't go  
You'll never shine if you don't glow  
_


	2. What You Wish For

_What You Wish For_

_

* * *

  
_

"You told me that you'd get Gwen to keep her out of my way!" Arthur complains loudly as Morgana sweeps into his room and Merlin sidles out. She grins at him.

"Now why would you want him to do that?" she asks mildly, and he fixes her with a fierce look.

"Because I know what you're like," he retorts, grabbing a jacket and reaching for his boots. "I did grow up with you, remember?"

"And what exactly are you expecting me to do?" she enquires sweetly, watching as he shrugs on his jacket and belts his sword around his hips.

"Oh, I don't know. Make things difficult in general, perhaps?" he sneers, heading for the door, but she stops him with a look. He glares at her. It doesn't work.

"I think you're forgetting something."

* * *

"Where's Merlin gone off to?" she asks as their horses carry them through the town, and he glares at her from beneath his crown. Every now and then, it slips down to land hard on his nose, and Morgana tries and fails to smother her laughter.

"Same place we're heading, he's out with Ayden. I think he's avoiding me, I wasn't in the best of moods this morning and I took it out on him," he replies, then realises that she might correctly interpret the remorse in his voice, and coughs to try and cover it. He glances over at her and knows she isn't fooled.

"He seems rather attached to him," she remarks, leaning stroke her horse's crest, and Arthur scowls.

"Yes, he is," he agrees, spotting the warlock as they move out from the main streets and towards the fields. His advisor notices him and the same time and waves to him, and the Prince winces as the sun catches Ayden and a flash of silver shines in his eyes. "I'm beginning to regret giving him the damned bird."

Morgana laughs, a silvery laugh that would echo if she were inside and turn the heads of the surrounding men.

"Don't tell me you're jealous of a falcon," she teases, and Arthur grumbles incoherently, reaching to fiddle with his crown instead.

"I still don't see why I have to wear this thing whenever I go into town. It's bloody heavy, and besides, everyone already _knows_ that I'm Prince. There's little need to belabour the point, really," he complains, and Morgana just smirks at him.

"But when you were younger you always wanted to wear a crown! You were desperate to have one of your own. And look at you now – you've got one, and you don't want it!" she mocks, pulling her horse away ever so slightly to avoid his irritated swipe.

"Fine, you wear it!" he snaps, yanking it from his head, and the metal is cold and unyielding in his palm as he thrusts it at her. "See how you like it!"

She takes it from him good-naturedly, weighing it up in one hand as they head out toward the fields.

"Why don't you just get Merlin to enchant it to be lighter? Or more comfortable?" she asks as she hands it back, and he replaces it reluctantly. It digs in slightly at the back of his head.

"I asked, but he said that he doesn't want to be held responsible for damaging my crown should something go wrong," he explains glumly as they approach him, and he watches as Ayden circles over Merlin's head before swooping in to land on his arm.

"What type is he?" Morgana asks as they drew nearer, and Arthur is aware that he looks slightly uncomfortable as he answers.

"Gyr," he replies awkwardly, and hopes that she won't notice it, but she does. Of course.

"Arthur, that's inappropriate," she hisses as they draw to a halt and Merlin walks over to them. "A Lanner would have been quite enough…"

"He doesn't know the difference," he mutters, dismissing her frown, and dismounts quickly.

"I think he's getting better, you know," Merlin comments mildly as he reaches them, but keeps his distance from Arthur. They've kept this secret for three months now, and have no intention of revealing it now. _Especially_ not now. Though Arthur knows in his heart that Morgana figured it out before he did.

"He's getting fat, if that's what you mean," he replies baldly, and Merlin just laughs.

"He's growing, Arthur," he corrects, watching as Morgana rides on, and the falcon eyes Arthur as though he's considering hunting him. It's slightly unnerving.

"He's looking at me funny," he points out, and his warlock turns back to him with a grin. The light shines off the scars dusting his face like a million reflective freckles, and Arthur forces down the anger that always simmers when he remembers what happened to him in the cave.

"You probably started it," his advisor reasons, and with a brief look around, takes the final step to press a kiss to Arthur's cheek. "Sorry I left you with her, but I thought it'd be best to get it over and done with now. How was she?"

"Far too pleasant for her own good," he groans, walking to a nearby tree and sitting down at its base. Merlin sends Ayden off before settling beside him, shoulders touching. "I think she's planning something awful. I wouldn't be surprised."

"You could have her all wrong, you know," Merlin says with a smile, nudging Arthur's knee with his own, and the Prince nudges him back harder.

"Not likely," he grumbles, and pulls his crown off. Merlin looks up at his forehead and can barely suppress a smile, which means that he has a vicious red mark there. His advisor reaches out a hand and rests it against his head, and the dull ache subsides.

"You could try enchanting it yourself, you know," the warlock suggests as he takes the circle of metal from Arthur's unresisting hands, turning it over and over. "You're less likely to get thrown in the stocks than I am."

"You're not a manservant any more, you're my advisor," Arthur retorts, leaning his head back against the bark of the tree, and hears Ayden's call from somewhere up above. "My father isn't going to throw you in the stocks. Besides, you could always just put up a shield if he did."

"That is true," he replies, stretching over him to place the crown on the ground beside them, and then he leans and drops his head to Arthur's shoulder. "I wish we could do this more often."

"What, complain about Morgana and my crown?" the Prince replies teasingly, shifting to wrap an arm around Merlin's shoulders and the warlock settles closer into his chest, smiling.

"You know what I mean," he murmurs, and Arthur's eyes drift shut. "Just sit like this. Just us."

"Yeah. Me too."

* * *

"Arthur!"

He jerks awake and cracks his eyes open as he hears Morgana's urgent tone and the thumping of her horse's hooves on the soft ground. Merlin rolls off the Prince as she comes into view.

"What is it?" he asks, barely holding in a yawn as he retrieves his crown from the floor beside them and pushes himself to his feet. Her face is frantic.

"A group of bandits is attacking a village just five minutes' ride away. Come quickly!"

He's steady and awake almost immediately and hauling himself up onto his stallion in seconds, pausing only to allow Merlin to pull himself up behind him. He kicks hard, knowing that his horse will forgive him, and they surge forward after Morgana as she moves away in a whirl of white and blue, then they're thundering over the grass.

Merlin's arms are tight around his waist and his own hands are tight on the reins as he rides towards the village, and he can already hear the screaming.

* * *

_When I was young I wanted attention  
And I promised myself that I'd do anything_


	3. The Dark Side

_Keep You By My Side_

It's a short ride to the village but to Arthur it seems to take hours – he can hear the screams and smell the burning as they approach, and he doesn't slow his horse as they draw closer. Merlin's arms shift from where they grip his waist, one working its way inside his clothes to press against his skin and the other raised high in the air.

There's an explosion of sound and light as gold lightning whips up into the air, red sparking through it. Arthur can feel the gentle pull of magic as Merlin draws it from him, skin to skin, using it almost as an ensign, a warning to the bandits. Since Ealdor, word has spread throughout the land that the Crown Prince will defend any and all peasants against rebels.

One of two of the men notice the rapidly approaching party and release the villagers, and in a ripple effect the others copy, grabbing at what they can and falling over themselves to escape. They don't make it, though – as they reach the edges of the village they bounce back, rebounding off a shimmering wall of magic. Arthur feels its warmth as they pass through it as a canter, and it's like coming home.

"Who is responsible for this attack?" he calls imperiously, pulling his horse to a halt to allow Merlin to dismount. The rebels are silent.

"I'll go see to the injured," Merlin says quietly, patting Arthur's thigh as he passes him, and heads over to where Gwen is kneeling beside several men. Morgana draws level with him, her head held high and hands white where she grips her reins, her horse shining dappled beneath her.

"You have ten minutes to tell us who is responsible, or you will all be thrown into the cells awaiting execution," she says coldly, and she doesn't have to shout. Her voice cuts through the crisp spring air as effectively as her glare and several of the bandits appear to falter momentarily before resolving themselves.

"I don't see what you're going to do about it," one of them sneers as Arthur watches Merlin mend a young girl's broken leg, and the Prince whirls around, urging his horse forward towards the man, dust flying up around its hooves.

"Don't presume to think that I won't deal with you myself," he hisses, leaning down to the man, and he's aware that his eyes are flashing but he doesn't care. He and Merlin haven't tried to hide his magic, but equally they haven't flaunted it, and it almost seems like cheating. He draws back to Morgana, eyes furious, mouth set.

"This is your last chance," she offers, casting her eyes around, but there is no response.

Only the crackling and thrumming as magic collides with Merlin's barrier from the outside and the shield resist the first attack, but not the second – it was only constructed for humans.

The rebels flood out of the village and towards the forest, towards the two figures on horses. And in a split second the dagger resting on Merlin's hip is hurtling through the air, sparking gold, and then there's a strangled cry and a muffled thud as one of the bandits is struck down and crumples. Arthur is torn between chasing them, aided by his own magic, and helping the remaining villagers. He glances at Morgana and her expression makes the decision for him.

**

"Do you recognise him?" Arthur asks as he crouches down beside Merlin, the dead rebel between them, and the wralock shakes his head.

"I've never seen him about the town before, and the few people that I've asked don't know him. But he's got curious markings on his chest, take a look," he says quietly, pushing back the man's bloodied tunic to show Arthur the ink marks scattered over his skin. They're swirls and dots and harsh lines, a mixture of patterns, and they're familiar. He's aware that he's holding his breath.

"Is he a druid?" he asks in trepidation, dreading the answer, but Merlin just shakes his head slowly.

"No, nothing like that," he replies with a frown, leaning in close to peer at the marks. "They look more like a milder form of branding – as though they belong to someone. Their leader."

"You mean someone is marking them as his possessions?" the Prince enquires coldly, and the warlock shrugs.

"Seems most likely. I'd get Gaius to look at them though; he may have come across something like this before."

Arthur watches as Merlin heaves the body back over, wrenching his dagger from the man's back and wiping it on his breeches and replacing it in his sheath. The action isn't something that he could have even imagined his advisor doing a year ago, and it sends shivers down his spine.

"Morgana, would you mind bringing the man back with you?" he calls over to where she's stood with Gwen, and she waves in compliance. He turns back to Merlin. "You done with the villagers?" he asks, squinting against the sun's glare as it rolls to its highest point in the sky, and Merlin nods.

"Gwen's going to stay here for a bit – I've done what I can magically, there's nothing serious. It's mostly shock, I think. I've told them to come straight to the castle if they need anything else. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course I don't," Arthur replies absently as he swings himself onto his horse, reaching down a hand to help Merlin up behind him. "Just don't forget that we're going to have people start arriving soon for the banquet. You know what the nobles are like – they arrive days early and never seem to leave."

"Any idea when they're going to start coming?" Merlin asks as they canter down the road, chest pressed firmly to Arthur's back, and the Prince snorts.

"I would not be surprised in the slightest if we returned to find that someone's here already. A week early."

"Which means that there will definitely be guests there when we get back."

"I have no doubt," Arthur agrees as they crest the hill and Camelot becomes visible, and he's grinning like an idiot, and he doesn't know why. It must be something about Merlin though, because he feels the warlock nuzzle the back of his neck and his face feels as though it's about to split open. He tightens his left hand where his fingers are interlocked with Merlin's, linked hands resting over his heart.

And they may forget to release their holds on each other as they make their way through the town and into the castle, but then, they're nearly beyond caring anyway.

_I really don't mind what happens now and then  
As long as you'll be my friend at the end_


	4. The Look On My Face

**_The Look On My Face_**

_

* * *

  
_

Just as they'd assumed, when they reach the castle, there's a carriage standing waiting. Arthur hadn't been joking when he said that the nobles liked to arrive early.

He waits for Merlin to slide off before he does so himself, handing the reins to a nearby stable boy as he hears his advisor make an odd noise that he's come to recognise as the other man's call for Ayden, and two men descend from the carriage as they approach. They are both dressed resplendently in robes of a deep forest green, and the darker-haired of the two steps forward with a small bow.

"I am Pryderi of Dyfed, and this is my personal assistant, Llwyd. I'm afraid I misjudged the time that it would take to travel here – we have arrived far earlier than intended. If it will be any bother, then we shall find an inn to rest at until closer to the banquet," he offers smoothly, not pausing once, and Arthur feels his lips quirk up into a smile.

"I am Prince Arthur, Regent of Camelot whilst my father is away, and you are both most welcome in Camelot. I'll have you installed in your chambers immediately. Merlin?"

"What?"

Arthur blinks and turns to the warlock, who gives him a quizzical look before turning to their guests.

"I'm the Court Advisor," he says by way of introduction, throwing Arthur a puzzled look, and the Prince comes very close to smacking himself on the forehead. It had been so easy to slip back into the role of the Crown Prince and forget what has happened between them.

He watches sheepishly as Merlin shakes hands with Pryderi, then Llwyd, then jumps as green and gold sparks between the two men. When they release, their faces are both hard and set.

"You didn't say that you were a sorcerer, Llwyd," Merlin says quietly, rubbing his hand on his hip, and Arthur takes a step towards him.

"I had momentarily forgotten that the ban on magic has been lifted in Camelot," the sorcerer explains swiftly, and Arthur feels himself nodding. "I assure you, I was not trying to hide anything."

"Llwyd has served me well, for many years, and his magic has never once been dangerous or hindering," Pryderi adds, with an almost wary glance at Merlin, lingering on the burning gold eyes and scars flecked on his cheekbones. "However if you prefer him not to be here…"

"Nonsense!" Arthur interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face, if only to cut through the tension in the courtyard. Merlin's still glaring. "Come along with me, and I'll find someone who knows which chambers are yours."

He starts off up the castle and tugs Merlin along with him, and the warlock quirks his lips up at him as they approach the large doors.

"Losing your marbles?" he asks quietly, and Arthur shakes his head with a smile.

"Sorry about that, no idea what happened. Pryderi seems like a good chap though. Never met him, but my father does have connections all over the place."

Merlin's face falls slightly as he says it, but he ignores the sinking feeling in his chest and turns back to the nobleman and his assistant. They stare right back, and he looks away.

* * *

"You've been quiet all day," Arthur remarks as night descends over the castle hours later, resting his hand gently on the Merlin's shoulder as he follows him down the stairs from the tower, and the warlock shrugs, Ayden shifting on his arm.

"You've been preoccupied with banquet preparations, I've been busy with Ayden. It's nothing," he replies, brushing away the Prince's concern as they head towards the mews.

"It's clearly something," he retorts, following his advisor down the corridor, and he would know that even if he couldn't see the closed expression on Merlin's face because he _knows_ Merlin.

"Nothing that you need worry about, in any case," the warlock says mildly, calmly, as he replaces Ayden. Silver and gold glint in the dark room, and Merlin looks up at Arthur, smiling. But it's forced.

"If it's important, then I want to know. I want to know even if it's not important."

Merlin's smile becomes more genuine at that, but he looks at the floor, and Arthur reaches out to cup the other man's face in his hands, thumb rubbing over a particular batch of scars that stand out and he's grown curiously fond of. Merlin shrugs.

"I've been thinking about Pryderi and Llwyd, that's all," he finally admits, turning away from Arthur, and the Prince's hands drop as the warlock begins to walk away.

"What about them?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, unsure and awkward, pausing beside a large window and Arthur comes to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. "I can't really describe it… it was just a feeling I got. I don't like them, Arthur."

"Any reason for not liking them?"

"I just said, I don't know," he bites tiredly, pushing off the wall and pacing the width of the corridor. "It was just… something felt off. Fake, or hidden, or something."

"They're guests of my father, Merlin," Arthur points out, rolling his eyes. "I highly doubt that he would invite people that he doesn't trust."

"Well, maybe he does trust them, but that doesn't mean they're not up to something," he replies with a scowl, and Arthur feels himself bristle, though he's not entirely sure why.

"You've only met the man for a few minutes, give him some time," he suggests, carefully keeping his temper under control, and Merlin shakes his head.

"You don't understand – it was in his magic, Llwyd's. It felt _wrong_. Unnatural."

"You're making a fuss about nothing," Arthur retorts decidedly, dismissively, and makes to carry on up the corridor without his advisor.

"There's something not right about them!" Merlin insists, grabbing Arthur's arm as he passes him, and the Prince wrenches away from him.

"I don't see why you're so convinced," he snaps angrily, stalking away in an attempt to end the argument but Merlin follows him. He always does.

"I just _know_ about this sort of thing, Arthur!" he contends, dodging a serving girl on the stairs. "I can sense magic and believe me, I'm sensing an awful lot of bad magic from them."

"Then surely I should also be able to feel it?"

"It's not the same with you!"

"Oh, so my magic's not good enough then?"

Arthur feels the wash of resentment from come from Merlin, rather than an actual response, and for some reason that just makes him all the more angry.

"Don't be so stupid, Arthur!" his advisor spits, face contorting unpleasantly. "Of course that's not what I meant, and you're the only one who'd think that."

"Really?" he counters, slamming the door to his chambers open and unbuckling his sword, throwing it onto his bed. "Because that's not how it seems to me. You're always rubbing my face in it, how my magic just isn't as powerful as yours, aren't you?"

"Stop making this out to be all about you – the world doesn't revolve around you, you know," Merlin shoots back with a scowl, and Arthur can feel the incredulous look spreading over his face.

"How is this _not_ about me?" he asks, stepping up to his advisor and Merlin doesn't back down, and they're in each other's space like they have been so many times before, but there's no affection here now. There's nothing but anger.

"This is about Pryderi and his sorcerer and how I don't trust them, nothing more!"

"So it's all about you, is that what you're saying?"

"Now you're just being provocative."

"I'd say honest, personally."

Merlin takes an unsteady step back, almost reluctantly, and then another. Away from Arthur. He feels his forehead crease and his lips curl.

"Get back here!" he snarls as the warlock takes another step away from him, moving towards the door and dodging away from him. "I'm Prince Regent and you _will_ obey me!"

"No, I won't, because right now you're just being a spoilt brat."

"Come here, Merlin," he orders again, even though he knows that his advisor won't listen to him because he never listens to him, and Merlin's face closes off completely. He looks disappointed.

"I don't want to be around you when you're being like this," he mutters, storming towards the door joining their chambers, and Arthur's reaching out before he's really thought – and Merlin judders to a halt, shock clear on his face as he turns to Arthur. Then something resolves in his eyes and with a crack and spark of red and gold he stumbles forward again. His expression makes Arthur shiver, and he's halfway to apologising, but Merlin beats him to it.

"Don't you _ever_ use your magic against me again," he growls, and his voice is tinged with gold. It must be, because the retort that Arthur had ready doesn't roll off his tongue. Instead, his mouth feels as though it's made of wool as he watches his advisor slam the door between them, sparks skittering to the floor.

When he finally forces himself to move, the heavy oak door is sealed with Merlin's magic, and he can't break it, and calls out to Merlin to open it and let him in, but there's no response. When he goes out into the corridor to try the other door, it's been left ajar, and Merlin is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

_A little trick I picked up from my father  
In one ear and out the other, why must life be so tough?  
_


	5. Interlude: Fall In Line

**_Fall In Line_**

**_

* * *

  
_**

Llywd has heard the rumours, just like anybody else in the kingdom.

Even before he had shaken Merlin's hand in the courtyard, he had known that he would stand no chance against the young man in a sorcerer's fight. He himself had been practising magic for nearly twenty years, studying hard under his mentor before leaving and making a life for himself, but he was nothing in comparison. The power bled from Merlin as though there was too much to contain, and he could feel it before he'd seen him.

But he also knew from their introduction that Merlin was unpractised. He hadn't realised that Llwyd himself was a sorcerer until their magic collided, and even then hadn't really understood. He was powerful, yes, but he was uncontrolled.

Llwyd will use this fact to his advantage.

He spent the day that he and Pryderi arrive in Camelot skulking in shadows, whispered words silencing his footfalls and distracting guards. He followed Arthur and Merlin where they went, down secret corridors that he knew few others will know about and into rooms that nobody else would ever enter. Merlin had been quiet and thoughtful, whilst Arthur had been oblivious to his sorcerer's thoughts and full focused on the banquet ahead of them. And there was one particular scene that made Llwyd's mouth curl into something that on anyone else could have been a smile.

After ten minutes of walking in silence, they eventually climbed to the top of a large tower and Merlin locked the door behind them, and Llwyd only just managed to slip through before he was alone with them, spells cast all around him to mask his scent and shadow and his whole being. He was effectively invisible and if only Merlin has control of his powers, the young warlock would have been able to sense him immediately. But he didn't.

Merlin and Arthur stood side by side against the ramparts, and the warlock made an odd noise that Llwyd didn't quite understand until there was a flash of silver high up in the sky and a falcon circled high above their heads. Arthur watched the bird as it dropped and Llwyd couldn't help but raise his eyebrows when instead of raising his gauntlet to accept the falcon, Merlin simply allowed it to settle on his shoulder. Arthur regarded them both with something akin to amusement before reaching up to twist his fingers in the warlock's hair, pulling him gently in for a chaste kiss.

"You're being unusually affectionate today," the advisor murmured against Arthur's lips, and Llwyd had to take a step forward to hear. He feels something solidify in his mind – at least one of the rumours was true.

"Do you have a problem with that?" the Prince replied, smiling all over his face, and for a moment Llwyd felt the urge to leave this private, intimate moment until he remembered exactly why he was here. Merlin shrugged, leaning on the cold stone as he looked out over the city.

"Just not used to it, that's all. Almost in public too. Very daring of you."

Arthur just grinned a blindingly bright grin, then turned and grabbed by Merlin by the shoulders and brought their chests and knees and lips together, dislodging the silver-winged falcon, and the warlock wrapped his arms around the Prince to pull him closer. One of the stone crumbled behind them and shifted, and a nearby tree lost all the leaves on one branch. The two young men in front of him were oblivious.

Llwyd had seen enough; he slipped back to the stairs and through the locked door.

Merlin and Arthur didn't notice at all.

* * *

He doesn't see them at all until the next day, and he knows that something is wrong.

Arthur stalks down the corridor, crown shining and cold on his head and robes snapping at his heels. His expression is thunderous, his head held high, and Llwyd eases into his mind with magic and can see that his heart is full of fury and breaking.

Merlin loiters around Morgana's chambers for most of the day, withdrawn and quiet and absorbed in himself. Morgana sits with him in the bay windows of the castle, and they discuss many things in hushed voices. She looks murderous, and keeps disappearing with a whirl of her dress only to reappear later and speak to Merlin in biting tones.

Llwyd follows her too, sometimes, and discovers that when she's not with the warlock she's with the Prince, but her time with him is different. It's heated arguments and exasperated sighs and objects hurled across the room, and Arthur yelling at her that it's none of her business. And she storms out, slamming the door behind her, and there's a crackle of residual magic in the air that Llwyd can almost taste.

He doesn't see them together at all for the whole day, but he watches Merlin take his falcon out in the early afternoon after silently observing the warlock working with the physician, blending ghostlike into the background shadows, utilising his many years of practise. These chambers are positively alive with magic – it's been used and practised and shared here so much that it's ingrained into the walls and benches, and the sparkle gold and red and blue.

The physician doesn't ask why Merlin is there and not with Arthur. He appears to know the warlock quite well, and just gives him tasks to do to keep him occupied, silently preparing remedies and potions and poring over old books. At one point the young man spills an orange fluid down his dark blue robes, but he brushes at it absently and it dissolves beneath his touch.

He follows Merlin back to the advisor's chambers, and he notices that the door to the Prince's rooms glows gold and shudders in its frame as they pass, even if the warlock doesn't.

He's already formulating a newer, better plan as he returns to Pryderi.

* * *

_There's nothing left  
So save your breath_


	6. Close My Mouth and Clench My Fist

_Close My Mouth And Clench My Fist_

This is the fifth time that Arthur has banged on Merlin's door the second morning in a row, and he's still getting no answer. Which is strange, because as soon as he hears the tell-tale noises of the warlock being generally clumsy in his chambers he rushes to the door and tries to open it but by the time he succeeds, the rooms are always empty.

"Merlin, stop avoiding me!" he shouts at the wood, and it quivers beneath his hands. "You can't be like this forever, just come out and stop sulking."

"He's not there, you idiot. And you're an insensitive bastard, you know that?"

Arthur starts and turns to Morgana, who's leaning against his doorframe in clothes that simply cannot be keeping her warm, and instead of her usual mischievous smirk, she's glowering at him in the same way that she has been for the past few days.

"What do you want?" he asks brusquely, and his eyes seem to catch a whisk of green robes outside the door, but then it's gone, and he's not sure if he saw it or imagined glides across the room and perches on the edge of the table.

"He's never going to listen to you if you talk to him like that," she points out, rearranging her robes around herself, and Arthur concedes to bite.

"And how would you know?" he asks in what he hopes is a scathing tone, but probably comes out a little desperate. She raises an eyebrow.

"Because every time you start trying to order him around, demanding that he stops being an idiot, he comes to me and complains. Not that I mind, of course, or can blame him. You need to apologise to him."

"How many times do I have to tell you that this has nothing to do with you? You don't know what happened!"

"Merlin told me what happened."

"And what, you just blindly believed him?"

"Of course I did," she retorts, glaring at him. "Because I know you both, and I know that he wouldn't lie about that. And I know what you're like."

"And what conclusion did you draw from that?" he snipes with a scowl, coming around the table, and she shrugs.

"You acted like a prat," she says, quite simply, but he can hear the simmering anger beneath her words. It's becoming something familiar. "What's more, you tried to make it out to be his fault before then trying to use your magic against him. He's not going to forgive you any time soon."

"So why should I even bother apologising?" he shoots back with an exasperated sigh, and Morgana scowls heavily at him as he slumps at the table.

"Because if you don't, he will _never_ forgive you. And that's not something that you want."

"You're surely not suggesting that he's going to become my _enemy_, are you?" he asks incredulously, raising his head from his hands, and she throws her arms in the air.

"No, but you love him!" she shouts, coming to slam her hands down on the table beside him. "You _love_ him, Arthur, and you're both just going to be miserable and heartbroken forever if you don't go and at least talk to him! You owe him that much!"

"I owe him nothing!"

"You owe him your _life_," she hisses, eyes flashing as she leans forward and into his face.

And really, he can't argue with that, because it's true and Morgana's speaking in that low, quiet voice that she only ever uses when she's really pissed off with him.

"He has done nothing but support you these past six months, he has protected you and lied for you and so much more, and this is how you treat him? If he's saying that there's something wrong about Pryderi and Llwyd, then there's something _wrong_ about them. He's never been wrong before and you might like to remember that whatever he does, he's always thinking of you."

Arthur has moved past the argumentative stage and now he's just sulking.

"Now stop behaving like such a child and go and talk to him. He's with Ayden."

He watches her go with a glare, and laments the days when people did as he told them and not the other way around.

"Morgana told me that I might find you up here."

Merlin is silent and still, watching his falcon as it circles in the sky above him, and Arthur quietly shuts the door behind himself. There's a slight breeze that ruffles his hair and there are only a few clouds in the sky, the sun is shining down bright and burning though it pales in comparison to Merlin's eyes.

"You found me," the warlock replies, his voice flat and devoid of humour, and Arthur steps up to the turrets with him.

"We need to talk, Merlin," he begins, and reaches out hand to rest on his advisor's shoulder, but there's a soft glow of gold and the other man flinches and steps away even as the Prince's hand is gently rebuffed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to, I just…" he attempts, not meeting Arthur's eyes, and then gives up trying to explain as his shoulder slump. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," he mutters in response and instead takes his crown from his head and turns it over in his hands, just to keep them occupied, or he'll try and touch Merlin again.

"You said that you wanted to talk?"

Arthur pauses then, because he's not entirely sure how to start. This isn't something that he normally does. But then he realises that he has little to lose – he long since stopped worrying about his appearance or pride in front of his advisor.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he whispers, and he hopes that the warlock knows how hard this is for him. "I don't know what you want me to say to make this better."

"There isn't anything," Merlin replies, a little sadly, and holds his arm out for Ayden. "Just take heed of what I said, and be careful of Pryderi and Llwyd. That's all that I ask of you."

He turns to go, face drawn and sharp, and Arthur feels his heart breaking.

"Merlin, please," he breathes, almost silent, but the warlock hears him and pauses. "Are you coming to the banquet?"

Merlin says nothing for a long while, but seems to be having some sort of internal struggle. And now that they no longer share magic, Arthur can't even feel what the warlock is feeling. He's never felt so detached and alone.

"I will attend the banquet," he says quietly, _finally, _and Arthur feels something release its hold on his heart. "But as your advisor, and only that."

Arthur nods – a curt movement – and watches as the warlock leaves the tower.

The brickwork shudders in his wake – Arthur notices, but says nothing.

Arthur calls Llwyd to the Great Hall later that evening, quite intent on grilling him to determine if he and his master are up to something. He's been sat in his father's chair for several minutes when the sorcerer arrives, swooping low to the ground in an extravagant bow.

"Come here, Llwyd," he says sharply, gesturing with one hand, and the older man obeys, scurrying to his side and looking nervous.

"You asked for me, my lord?"

"Yes, I did. I want to ask you a few questions about your master."

Something changes in Llwyd's expression then, something that Arthur can't decipher. The sorcerer moves swiftly, stepping to his side before Arthur is even aware that he's moved. Standing just behind him, he lays a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur blinks as something sparks to life in rebellion.

"And why would you want to ask questions about my master?" Llwyd enquires, fingers squeezing Arthur's shoulder, and the Prince shakes his head to clear it.

"My advisor, Merlin – he seems to think that you're not trustworthy, either of you," he explains, words rolling off his tongue, unbidden, and he frowns.

"Merlin…" Llwyd whispers in a low voice, leaning closer, a contemplative tinge to his voice. "He's headstrong, determined. He's planning to overthrow you, Arthur."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur retorts, a flare of annoyance building up within him. The sorcerer's other hand comes to rest just by his neck and he feels his eyes droop. "Actually, now you mention it, he has been getting a bit big-headed recently. You know, irreverent. But he always has been. I think."

"Yes, he has," the man replies smoothly, and Arthur thinks that his shoulders are particularly warm beneath his hands, but that doesn't matter because Merlin is plotting to _overthrow_ him. And that's far more important. Or maybe Merlin himself is more important, he can't tell any more

"I ought to have him thrown in the stocks, or in the cells, or executed or something," he suggests in what he hopes is a decisive tone, though he can hear his words slurring. There's something within him that's screaming that this is wrong, but the lulling voice in his ear is louder. Though only by a little.

"I would wait until after the banquet, sire," it murmurs to him hypnotically, and he thinks that he might be nodding his head. "And tell nobody of your suspicions, not even Merlin himself. Pretend that all is normal, but keep your eyes open. I know sorcerers, your highness. Put guards on him, if necessary, but promise me that you'll wait until after the feast."

"Why not before the feast?" Arthur asks, and it feels as though his head is filled with cotton wool. His thoughts are all mixed up and jumbled and red and gold and green and full of love and distrust and he can't work out which belong to him and which don't.

"Well, we wouldn't want him to cause any damage to your guests, would we?" Llwyd explain silkily, and Arthur's eyes are fully shut now, and he can feel himself swaying gently. "Best to wait until they're away and safe, so he doesn't get any ideas."

"Yes," he breathes, and then winces, because the sorcerer's hand suddenly burns hot on his shoulder, and he twists away. For a brief second, when the contact is lost, his head begins to clear but then it's back again, and he drops his head down onto his arms.

"That's it. Sleep, Prince Arthur. Just sleep."

Arthur feels something red and gold inside him cry out in despair before darkness comes.

_And I'm so damn frustrated  
Losing breath and now I'm shaking  
Got to keep myself from breaking down_


	7. Love Is Not A Victory March

_Love Is Not A Victory March_

Arthur wakes and knows one thing. He doesn't know how he knows it, or why it's the most important thing in his mind, but it sticks out and he can't ignore it.

Merlin is going to kill him.

He isn't sure how he came to this conclusion, because he can't remember everything that happened the night before, but he knows that it is true. His head hurts though, in a throbbing, aching way so perhaps he got drunk. That seems possible, and moreover probable.

He feels detached, as though he's not fully in control of his body, as he washes and dresses and sets out to finalise preparations for the banquet later on. He seems to be losing huge chunks of time, too, and he keeps suddenly finding himself standing staring and having no idea how he got there.

Every time he sees Morgana she casts him inscrutable glares, and every time she's wearing a different dress. Every time he sees Llwyd, he shares a secret look with the sorcerer, and feels something churn inside himself. He doesn't see Merlin at all.

But that's fine, because Merlin is trying to kill him, so he probably doesn't want to be seeing him anyway.

When the banquet finally arrives, Arthur has dressed himself in his finest robes and sits in his father's throne at the head of the table. Morgana is wearing a dress that's heavy and flowing and dark and like blood made into cloth. It mesmerises him, and that in turn repulses him.

Merlin, on his other side, is dressed in his formal advisor's robes of dark blue, and his eyes are gold and faded and tired in the candlelight. He looks ill – his hair is a tangled mess, and there may of may not be a shadow sweeping across his pale jaw. Arthur knows that he should be feeling something at the sight of him. He's just not sure what.

Arthur's not sure where to look – if he turns to his right, he's faced with Merlin and his treacherous eyes but if he turns to his left, he's rewarded with Morgana glaring at him. He settles for staring at his food throughout the meal and they pass it in silence, though he has a nasty feeling that Merlin and Morgana and sharing pointed looks over his head. He begins to wonder if Morgana's in on the warlock's plans, too.

The guests seem to notice his black mood and are equally quiet during the banquet, which is not normal and he knows that they're probably disappointed. But then, they don't have the threat of being overthrown hanging over their heads like a black cloud. He looks over at Llwyd, and the sorcerer is looking back, and he feels ill.

He leans closer to Morgana to whisper that he's going outside for a breath of fresh air, and she nods once before returning to her food. Her movements are sharp and controlled and just like her.

Arthur catches Llwyd's eyes as he leaves the Hall, and the ache in his head intensifies.

When he arrives back at his chambers, it's to find Merlin curled up in the centre of his bed like a cat, breathing deep and even and fingers gripping the sheets. Something that could be affection unfurls in his chest, and he frowns at the sensation, because why would he feel something like that towards the man? He's trying to _kill_ him. He loves him.

He shakes his head and takes an unsteady step forward, pressing his hand to his temple, then stumbles and hits his hip on the table. Merlin wakes with start, and he's immediately jumping off the bed and taking a step towards Arthur, face full of concern even though he's still half-asleep.

"Don't come any closer!" he grunts, trying to draw his sword and failing, so he settles for holding up a shaking hand whilst still clutching at his head. "Don't try anything."

"Arthur, I'm not going to _hurt_ you!" Merlin says incredulously, taking another step forward, and something flares inside him. "What's wrong?"

Arthur's head really isn't helping him right now, because it's screaming at him in two different coloured voices and he can't tell which is the right one, but he hopes that they stop arguing soon because otherwise he's going to injure somebody.

"I know about your plans, Merlin," he growls, squinting at the warlock and supporting himself on the table. He ignores the sparks that flares and fade beneath his hand. "Llwyd told me everything. How you're planning to overthrow me. How you're planning to kill me. And Morgana, she's involved, isn't she? That's what you're talking about when you're holed up with her, isn't it?"

"Arthur, don't start this again," Merlin sighs, passing a hand over his face, and he looks exhausted. "Can we not fight today?"

"NO!" he bellows, finally managing to unsheathe his sword and he brandishes it at his advisor, and it flares green and ugly at the tip. Merlin's eyes widen.

"Arthur, what… your magic, there's something wrong with it. You're ill," he says urgently, and takes another step forward, and it's as though he has no control over his own movements. He surges forward as though he's being pulled by a rope, and the very edge of his blade nicks Merlin's bicep. His robes a split and blood wells at the wound.

And then his body feels as though it's been set on fire, completely rebelling against _itself_, and through the pain he can see Merlin rushing to his side despite the cut on his arm. He feels the warlock's arms around him as he falls to the floor, and he clutches at his temples as though he could pull the screaming pain from himself.

"Arthur, you're under some sort of spell!" Merlin says calmly, hands firm on his shoulders, and his body protests at the contact. He forces his eyes open and all he can see is a riot of red and gold and green glowing and flaring between them, and he rolls away from the other man.

"My _head_," he hisses, pressing his forehead to the cool floor in hopes of easing the pain, and squeezes his eyes shut. "It feels like it's about to split open."

"Come here," Merlin says quietly, sitting on the floor beside him, and pulls the Prince's head unceremoniously into his lap. He holds onto his advisor's hip for support and winces and the warlock rests his palms on his scalp, fingers threading through his hair in soothing movements. Arthur knows that he should be pulling away, because Merlin is trying to kill him and this is probably a good opportunity, but then there's that something inside him that disagrees, and another bolt of pain lances through him.

"Make it stop," he whimpers, and Merlin's voice is low and calming and close to his ear, whispering words laced with gold and his hands are warm against his skin. There's one last wave of pain as whatever it was inside him is forced out, and then there is just warmth and acceptance and healing washing through him.

Arthur blinks, and his head is clear and he knows one thing.

He loves Merlin.

Arthur's not sure how long they stay there, curled up together on the stone floor of his chambers, but he can feel in the careful touch of Merlin's hands and the tensing of his muscles beneath him that the warlock doesn't want to stay like this. Arthur pushes himself upright and out of Merlin's gentle grasp, and his advisor is avoiding his eyes.

"Thank you," he says, quietly and seriously, and Merlin shrugs.

"You were under an enchantment, I wasn't going to leave you," he replies shortly, and stiffly climbs to his feet. "I couldn't, ever."

Arthur smiles at that as he gets up too, thinking that perhaps they can get past this. But then he realises that Merlin's still avoiding his gaze and his face falls again.

"Merlin, please, don't do this," he says quietly, taking a step forward, and Merlin takes a step back, then flinches, and shakes his head slowly.

"I can't do this Arthur. Not now. Don't ask this of me," the warlock replies in a level voice, and makes to walk past the Prince. Something breaks inside Arthur.

"Please, Merlin," he begs, and his voice cracks slightly, and Merlin hesitates as the Prince's fingers snag in his tunic. "Please, I just… please."

The warlock doesn't move, just stands there placidly as Arthur moves his hand slowly up his arm, doesn't resist as he is taken in both hands and turned gently to stand facing him, and barely breathes as Arthur presses their foreheads together. Then Arthur moves, wrapping his arms around his advisor and pulling him close, hoping and waiting and wishing for a response. But Merlin remains still in his arms and he releases him.

He turns away to hide his face and glares at his own bed.

"Good night, Arthur," Merlin says quietly, and Arthur doesn't trust himself to speak, because he knows that it will come out as a broken and harsh sound rather than words.

He listens to Merlin leave the room, shutting the door behind himself with a faint click, and crosses to his own bed. There's still a large dent where Merlin was asleep before, and he curls up into it, trying to fit into the gap as best he can, pressing his face into the covers.

It's the closest he's going to get to the real thing.

_Remember when I moved in you  
The holy dark was moving too_


	8. Time To Rest

_Time To Rest_

Arthur lies awake in his cold, empty bed and dreams of Merlin.

They're not important dreams, he knows, because they're vague and ambiguous and full of blurred figures. The only reason that he recognises Merlin is because one of the figures is literally glowing gold, tendrils of light reaching out around him. There are more like him, but different colours – purple, and blue, and green and red. And there's white, too, a blinding white that shoots up from underneath him, and he looks down, and opens his eyes.

The air in the room is thick and heavy in the midsummer night, and he's stripped down to nothing underneath his sheets in an attempt to cool down. He scowls at nothing, or maybe himself, and turns over onto his front. Then his ears prick up.

Arthur hears a door opening, a barely audible noise in the still air, and then soft footsteps on the cold floor. Footsteps that he knows inside out and back to front because he's heard them so many times before, particularly after they've had a minor disagreement and Merlin returns after storming off and then regretting it and coming back to bed five minutes later, to smooth over Arthur's chest and their problems. The Prince knows what is coming next.

There's a lithe body sliding under his sheets, warm skin against cool linen and Merlin settles on the other side of the bed. He seems unsure as to whether or not he should be touching Arthur, which means that the next move belongs to Merlin so the Prince _can't_ touch him, even if he wanted to. Which he does, so much that it hurts.

"I know you're awake," he murmurs, edging just that little bit closer, and Arthur winces. "I could hear you dreaming. Thinking."

Arthur decides then that there's little point in pretending, and he rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow so that he can see his advisor.

"I thought you didn't want to do this?" he asks, a little sceptically, and Merlin might be blushing.

"I've missed you," he offers, by way of an explanation, and shift across the bed to splays his fingers over Arthur's side. The Prince pulls away and onto his back, and after watching him for a moment, Merlin copies him.

"I'm willing to try and make this work if you are," he says, a little shortly, and this time his fingers brush against Arthur's hip. He twitches, but doesn't move.

"So this is where I try again then, is it?" Arthur asks, a little bitterly, and Merlin shrugs beside him.

"If you want."

"Well I'm sorry, Merlin. For everything," he says, and hopes that his advisor can hear the sincerity in his voice, but the other man just sighs heavily instead and presses his forehead to Arthur's shoulder. The Prince refuses to touch him.

"You're always _sorry_, Arthur. But sometimes, it's just not enough."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" he asks wretchedly, fighting the urge to reach out and brush his hand over Merlin's arm, and the warlock shrugs as he stares up at the ceiling.

"Not say sorry. I just want you to believe in me, and know that I would never hurt you."

"I already do."

"Didn't seem that way tonight."

"I was enchanted."

"Spells like that don't work if there's nothing to anchor them too."

"OK fine!" Arthur shouts, pulling away from Merlin's hesitant touch and rolling over so that his back is to the warlock. "You have more power in your little finger than most of the sorcerers in this country combined. You could wipe out my family and I without blinking, and yet you don't. Instead, you deign to act as my _advisor_ and do menial tasks around the castle, and I can't help but ask why sometimes," he growls, and Merlin hesitates just for a second. Arthur can hear him shifting closer behind him.

"I do these things because you're destined to be a great king one day, but you need me by your side. I do these things because destiny dictates that you're going to be the famous one, I'm just going to help you get there," Merlin rattles off in a rush, laying his hand on Arthur's arm so lightly that it might not be there. "But mostly, I do it because I love you. I would do anything to keep you safe and I want to spend my life with you. Why is that such a problem?"

"Because it makes no sense," Arthur grinds out, still stoically resisting the warlock, and wonders how the tables have turned so quickly. "Why would you pick me out of all the Princes in the land? Why me, when I have such weak powers compared to you, when you're already ten times the man that I could ever hope to be? How can I prove my worth? What have I done to deserve you?"

He chokes on the last word as his throat tightens, when he realises the weight of what he's saying. And he can't even pretend that these are new thoughts, because he knows that they're not. For the first time in his life, he feels inferior and unworthy, and it scares him.

At first, he thinks that Merlin's going to get up and leave – the warlock doesn't move at all, doesn't say anything, doesn't snap back with a cheeky comment. And it seems like an age, but eventually he feels his advisor's hand on his arm again, strong now and confident, and then the shift of his weight over the bed to press against the Prince.

Merlin presses small, light kisses to the back of Arthur's neck, and the Prince barely reacts – he doesn't lean into the touch, but equally he doesn't pull away, because he's still not sure where he stands.

"You have nothing to prove," the warlock whispers against his skin, and with an insistent push on his shoulder, rolls Arthur onto his back and leans down to capture his mouth in a kiss, slow and deep and gentle. And now, because Merlin has made the first move, Arthur is allowed to touch him.

One hand comes up to wrap around his neck, the other splaying out over the warlock's shoulder as he surges upward, and he's missed this _so much_. Not just kissing Merlin, though, because it means so much more to him than just that.

He holds Merlin's bottom lip between his own for a lingering moment as they part, and presses their foreheads together, breathing deeply, and runs his hand down from his advisor's shoulder to his wrist – and stops as his fingers run over the cut that he himself caused. He takes Merlin's arm gently and turns it, inspecting the wound. It's been healed slightly, but there's a smudge of dried blood over his ribs where it bled anyway.

"_A__gíemaþ_," he murmurs, passing a hand over the cut, and it glows red before sewing itself back together. Arthur feels Merlin relax above him, and turns to him with a frown. "Why didn't you heal yourself?" he asks, and the warlock shrugs, looking down at him with a lop-sided smile.

"I tried. Couldn't get my magic to work properly – it's directly linked to my emotions. No sorcerer is at his true potential with a broken heart."

Arthur stares up at him, trying to find the hidden meaning in that sentence as he searches the bright gold eyes, the familiar face covered in scars like fine powder. He realises that there is no other meaning.

He pushes himself upward and Merlin over and down in one movement, but he's not rough. Merlin hasn't come here for a fight, so Arthur's not going to give him one. Instead he's careful with his hands where he knows he might normally leave bruises, gentle with his kisses where he might normally draw blood. He knows that Merlin knows that he's not intentionally aggressive – it's just his body, and he's not used to holding fragile things in his hands. He's had to learn fast.

His large hands maps over Merlin's chest, re-learning the grooves and dips and scars and not-quite-curves that he's missed but could never forget. Merlin is complacent and smiling beneath him, one hand running through the Prince's fine blond hair, and Arthur eases in between his legs as the warlock uses his grip in his hair to pull him in for another kiss.

Then there's a glow that suddenly flares between them, golden red and warm, and Arthur grunts in surprise as Merlin opens up beneath him in a flash of magic, ready and waiting and willing. He gathers his wits before going for it and pushing forward – not to prepare Merlin, because there's no need for that, but to take a second to just look at his warlock.

Because this is _his_ Merlin, open and vulnerable beneath him. His body, pale and long and all hard flat planes. His eyes, burning with the same passion that they share still. His face says _I want this _and_ I trust you_ and _I love you_, and that's all that Arthur's ever wanted from him. He knows that now.

He swoops down for another kiss as he surges up and in and forward, and Merlin grips his upper arms and moans into Arthur's mouth even though he was prepared and expecting it, and even though his eyes are closed as Arthur buries himself inside him, it's not from pain. Merlin is everywhere, hot and perfect and limbs wrapped around his body, face pressed into his neck and lips mouthing nonsense against his skin.

Arthur feels as though he's come home.

When he finally begins to move, it's so very slow and gentle. This isn't like those times when Arthur would come back from training, adrenaline thundering through his veins, and they would be all hands and not even make it to the bed before one was arching up beneath the other. The Prince wants to prolong this for as long as he can, because he wants to imprint this feeling onto his brain forever.

Merlin's pressing light kisses to his neck, moving languidly down to his shoulder and leaving a tingling trail in his wake, and Arthur would shiver at the touch but he's too busy pressing his cheek the warlock's hair, one hand holding his shoulder and the other his hips in loose grips as they move together.

And for all that Arthur wants this to last forever, he knows that it can't, and his movements become jerky and erratic and Merlin wraps one arm around the Prince, pulling their chests flush together until there's no space at all. And then there's sparks between them, and if Arthur could see he might be surprised to see that they're red, but he's busy concentrating on just Merlin.

The warlock is patient and doesn't loosen his grip, and Arthur can feel him tensing as the magic glowing between them pulls him toward the edge and over – and with a flash of gold light, the warlock shudders his release and relaxes, and Arthur follows him right into oblivion.

When he regains control of his muscles, he realises that he's collapses on top of the warlock and Merlin makes a noise, and it's probably meant to mean something, but Arthur's not concentrating.

He rolls out and off Merlin and then just lays there, eyes half-closed and one hand twined in Merlin's, and he has no doubt that he has a ridiculous expression on his face. But it doesn't matter, because Merlin's pulling him into his chest, warm and solid and real. Arthur presses his cheek into Merlin's shoulder as the warlock tightens an arm over his back, and he twists his neck up to look at his warlock.

"I love you so much," he murmurs, and he can feel Merlin's heartbeat slowing down the same as his, perfectly in time. And his advisor smiles, a proper smile, for the first time in several days.

"I'm yours, forever."

Arthur closes his eyes and thinks that yes, they can make this work.

_Took a while to see all the love that's around me  
Through the highs and lows there's a truth that I've known  
And it's you_


	9. Through The Heart

_Through The Heart_

Arthur wakes with Merlin curled into his side, and his heart soars.

He's aware of the warlock's presence even as he pulls himself from sleep, the last dregs of a brightly-coloured dream slipping away as he forces his eyes open. Light is streaming through the windows and by the looks of things, they've slept until nearly noon.

He turns slightly to his right to look at Merlin, and smiles fondly. The warlock has managed to manoeuvre himself so that he's half-lying on Arthur's chest, his heart pressed against the Prince's, and Arthur can feel them beating in time. It's soothing, in a way.

Merlin mumbles something then with a slight jerk and a grunt he wakes, lifting his head an inch from Arthur's shoulder before dropping it back down with a groan.

"You OK?" Arthur asks quietly, snaking his arm more securely around the warlock, and Merlin yawns widely.

"Odd dream, I'm fine. Lewd was in it."

"Lewd?" Arthur laughs, and Merlin smiles against his chest. "Don't you mean Llwyd?"

"Whatever," his advisor replies dismissively, rolling away and stretching like a cat. "Semantics."

"You really don't like him, do you?" Arthur muses, watching the other man curl back up, and reaches out towards him. Merlin quirks up an eyebrow.

"He cast an enchantment upon you to makes you think that I was trying to assassinate you," Merlin says dryly and props himself up on his elbow. "I'd say that an execution is in order."

"That's not something that I thought I'd ever hear you say," Arthur remarks with a smile, running his fingers down his advisor's side.

"It's true though!" he protests, snuggling back in and pressing his face into the Prince's shoulder. "I don't like the idea of innocent sorcerer being punished just for being magical. But this is coming pretty close to treason. If not for magic, kill him for that."

"You're being a bit bloodthirsty, you know," Arthur murmurs into Merlin's hair, pulling him close, and his advisor shrugs.

"You're not contradicting me."

"I guess you must be right then."

"That's probably the first time you've ever said that."

"And probably the last."

"Where do you think we'll find him then?" Arthur asks an hour later as they walk down the corridor, dressed and fully awake. His crown feels lighter on his head today. He knows better than to assume that Merlin didn't have something to do with it.

"In his chambers, or with Pryderi, I would expect," his advisor replies with a shrug, adjusting his deep blue jacket. "I can just find him using magic, if you want."

Arthur grins, one eyebrow twitching into his hairline.

"Good idea," he says with a smirk, and pauses as they pass a corridor to glance down it.

Then he hears Merlin cry out in pain and turns back to him to see him curling around his stomach, and Arthur's eyes widen as he rushes the few steps to him.

"Merlin!" he shouts, pulling away the warlock's hands to reveal a dagger embedded in his side, emerald stone set into the hilt and blood already blossoming on his clothes. Arthur feels a wave of fury thunder through his veins.

He stands straight, magic coming to the surface to find out Merlin's attacker, and then everything goes black.

When Arthur comes to, his face is pressed to cold stone and there's a ringing in his ears. He cracks open his eyes and sees little – the room is darkened, but he can see figures glowing with a faint green colour. Something about the whole place feels _wrong_, and he starts to stand.

"No," says a disembodied voice, and he's about to call on his magic when he's lifted from the floor and flung through the air.

All the breath is forced out of him as he's thrown against the wall, and then ropes seems to spring from out of the stonework to wrap around his wrist and ankles and hold him in place. Tensing his muscles, he strains against them, but it's futile. He blinks through the anger and casts his eyes around the darkened room, and sees Merlin slumped on the floor towards one of the corners. Blood is pooling slowly beneath him.

"Merlin!" he yells desperately, and there's a brief spark and red and gold over the warlock's body and he suddenly coughs, jerking, and whimpers in pain.

"You'll do yourself more harm than good if you try to get up," comes a voice from the shadows, and Llwyd steps into the light. He has a self-satisfied look on his face, and Arthur wants to kill him.

"Release us," he snarls, and the man looks up at him mildly.

"You are currently bound to a wall and your own sorcerer lies incapacitated at my feet, whilst nearly twenty of my own people stand surrounding you. You are in no position to be giving orders Pendragon," he says quite simply, and looks down at Merlin. "Neither of you are."

"You just wait until the King returns," Arthur spits, pulling at his bonds again, and they glow green. His skin burns where they're touching him, and he frowns as he sees Llwyd grimace.

"Your father won't be returning for a few days, if everything goes to plan," he says quietly, and just stares at him as though he's waiting for Arthur to work out what he means. When the Prince does, it's with a sickening thud.

"You organised that rebellion, didn't you? You made my father leave. And the bandits attacking the village, it was you!" Arthur accuses, trembling as Merlin whimpers in pain. "You marked those men!"

"When marked, they cannot resist the orders of myself or my master."

"So they're your slaves, is that it?" he spits, and Llwyd shrugs.

"That's one way of thinking of it. I prefer to refer to them as being indentured."

"Then you're just as sick as Pryderi, if you're doing this."

"I am bound to Pryderi, as payment for past trickeries," Llwyd explains shortly, twisting his hand and Merlin cries out as the dagger bends in his ribs. "And this is one of my duties."

"What, binding more innocent people to him?" Arthur spat, his heart breaking as he watched Merlin in pain. And maybe, if he could provoke Llwyd enough, he'll focus his attention on the Prince instead of the warlock and leave him alone.

"I do as my master requires of me," Llwyd snaps, and gazes out of the window. "I specialise in magic of the mind, as do the rest of my clan beneath me. Together, Pryderi and I can control whomever we like. My magic is honed, sharp and powerful – I have been training for decades. Yours, on the other hand…"

Arthur growls at the insinuation, and looks over at Merlin. His face is still drawn and pale, and his eyes still heavy and half-shut. There's a trail of blood making its way across his stomach.

"Merlin is more powerful than you'll ever be. You'll regret it when he comes to," he snarls in what be a righteous threat, but it's really a guarantee. Because even if Merlin refused to, Arthur would draw on his advisor's power himself and burn this man where he stood. But Llwyd doesn't look intimidated. He's _smirking_.

"See, that's where you're wrong, your Highness," he says smoothly, drawing from his robes a long, thin rod etched all over with intricate markings. Set in the end was a shining green stone. Something about it made Arthur feel sick to his stomach.

"What is that?" he asks, his tone demanding but turning desperate as he watches Llwyd reach out with it, whispered words dissolving the warlock's tunic, the rod resting on Merlin's bare chest. "Get it away from him!"

Llwyd says nothing – he just glances at Arthur once more, sneers, and then begins to whisper, dragging the rod across Merlin's skin in whirls and twists.

"NO!" Arthur roars, and something explodes inside his belly.

He's bound to the wall and powerless to help Merlin, because despite his own magic forcing its way out, he's just not strong enough. But he keeps trying, straining against the bonds and snarling, pushing magically and physically and getting nowhere. And he keeps his eyes open, keeps watching Merlin. Watches the slow burn as he's marked and equally incapacitated, the thick black shade oozing over his skin.

Arthur hears him scream, and then he's screaming too, and pushing everything that he is into his bonds to try to break them and get to Merlin. He can feel the sweat on his forehead, the blood trickling from his nose, the cramp in his muscles as they seize from overuse.

And then everything stops.

Both warlock and Prince stop screaming, and the bonds are broken, and the marking stops and Arthur falls to the ground. He hits with his hip and groans, rolling onto his front momentarily as bursts of light flash through his head, then he's up on his feet and stumbling over the cold floor to where his advisor is crouched on the ground.

"Are you OK?" he gasps out, clutching his stomach where the muscles are still seizing as he reaches Merlin. His hands are everywhere, reaching out to touch the markings, red and green sparking across the warlock's bare chest at the point of contact. He feels a surge of fury and hatred towards Llwyd, and he can feel the magic building inside him as he whirls to his feet.

But he doesn't release it. He can't, because there's something holding his arms and legs in place, and all he can do it glare at the man who hurt his warlock. Llwyd smiles a sickly smile, a triumphant smile.

"Kill him, Merlin," he says softly, and Arthur feels his face go white, and he turns back to his advisor, eyes wide and staring.

Merlin raises his head, so slowly that Arthur hurts to watch him, and his eyes snap open.

Arthur takes a step backwards, and something inside him cries out in despair.

_There is a darkness deep in you  
A frightening magic I cling to _


	10. Seek Me Call Me

_Seek Me Call Me_

Merlin's eyes snap up to meet Arthur's, and they're blazing with hatred.

"No!" Arthur shouts, stumbling backwards, and his hands through up a shimmering shield before he even knows what he's doing. And it's a good thing he does, because a split second later a golden flash bursts on the barrier. Merlin's hand is raised.

"You see, Pendragon?" Llwyd says silkily, stepping backwards from them towards the door, and his people follow him. "With your sorcerer in my power, Pryderi and I will rule over all of Albion. Nobody will be able to stand against us."

"Merlin, stop it," Arthur says in a low voice as the warlock advances, and Llwyd laughs.

"He'll not stop. He'll keep going until he kills you; your magic isn't strong enough to hold out against him for long. And then, Merlin, you're to come straight to me. Is that clear?"

Merlin says nothing, but nods sharply. He doesn't take his eyes off Arthur, but raises one hand and it begins to glow brightly. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut.

He hears Llwyd close the door, and they are alone.

"Thank God for that, I thought I was going to actually have to hurt you."

Arthur opened his eyes.

"What?"

"Like Llwyd's powerful enough to cast an enchantment like that on me," Merlin says with a smirk, and there's nothing in his eyes but fondness and love and amusement. "But I reckoned he'd probably leave us alone if I played along."

"…you mean you're not bound to him?" Arthur asks warily, still holding up his shield, and Merlin spreads his arms wide. The marking is spread over the right side of his chest, branches of the swirls curling over his shoulder and across his heart.

"Do I look like I'm trying to kill you?" he points out, and smiles. "Drop that shield, you prat."

And Arthur doesn't have to be told twice – he's upon Merlin in a second, hands sliding over his skin to reassure himself that he's fine, and he's here, as he presses light kisses to the warlock's bare shoulder.

"Are you OK?" he asks feverishly, abruptly holding him at arm's length and inspecting his chest. "Does it hurt? What about that dagger wound?"

"Healed the dagger wound," Merlin replies, lifting his arm to prove it. "And it stung when he did it, yes, but not any more. My magic protected me."

"He's going to pay for what he's done," Arthur growls, and turns to the door. He feels his face harden as he grabs Merlin's hand and raises his other at the door, and with a thundering crunch, the door is blasted from the hole, gold and red dust billowing out around them. Merlin blinks and looks at him.

"Easy there," he says mildly, and Arthur shrugs as he pulls him along.

"He irritates me."

"Funny, that. Let's go."

They break into a run as they exit onto the corridor, and already Arthur can hear the screams that mean Pryderi has begun his attack on the castle. He silently curses his father for having such poor taste in friends, and they head up towards where the fighting no doubt is.

They round a corner and the bandit ahead of them crumples with a shout from Merlin, and Arthur spots a flash of blue down a corridor and forces himself to stop, yanking Merlin to a halt with him.

"Gaius!"

The old man whirls to a halt at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and panicked as he hurries toward them, potions filling a bag at his side.

"Merlin, thank goodness you're OK," he says reverently, pulling him into a brief hug before letting go. "What's going on? Who are all these men attacking us?"

"They're bound to Pryderi," Arthur explains shortly as he leads the three of them up the spiral stairs. "Llwyd brought his own people with him – they're all practised in the art of mind-control, not to mention being powerful sorcerers in their own right. More so than me, at least."

"But not Merlin?"

"Of course not," Merlin replies with a cheeky grin. "Gaius, why would you ever think that?"

They surface onto the top of the tower and Arthur rushes to the edge, peering over into the courtyard and town ahead. Llwyd's men are easy to spot with their markings, and his sorcerers even more obvious – they're surrounded by shimmering green shields much like the one that Arthur had conjured, and the knights are incapable of penetrating them. The indentured bandits are falling, but those defending Camelot are falling faster.

Then Arthur spots an ensign approaching the town, the gold dragon blazing proud on the crimson background, and his heart plummets. His father can't be more than five minutes ride away and soon, Llwyd and his sorcerers will notice him.

"Merlin, my father!" he shouts over the screams, gesturing wildly, and Merlin nods in a jerky movement, turning towards him – then spins back around with a horrified look on his face and Arthur follows him instinctively.

Morgana and Gwen are down in the courtyard, both clad in leather breeches and wielding swords just like they did in Ealdor – and whilst they look as though they've been making headway, there's a sorcerer advancing upon them and there's nothing that they can do. He watches as Morgana hurls a throwing knife at the man and it bounces off his shield with a spray of green sparks.

Then Arthur hears an odd noise that at first he doesn't recognise, but then Merlin's looking up at the skies with a determined expression.

"Silver Wings! Protect the girls!" he calls, and with a shriek, Ayden hurtles down out of the sky and down towards where the sorcerer is advancing upon Morgana. And for all she's terrified and unable to save herself, she's still set and fierce and pushing Gwen behind herself, holding her head and her sword high.

Then with a flash of silver, Ayden breaks through the barrier and with talons full extended, gouges huge streaks across the sorcerer's head. And when the man screams and looks up, he dives once more and this time blinds him. Arthur looks away.

The battle is hard and fast, and once the sorcerers realise where Arthur and Merlin are they begin to send balls of fire and ice and various enchantments up at them whilst they burn their way through the town. Gaius is on hand, casting his own spells at half the speed of the younger men and offering advice on enchantments, and for a moment it seems as though they could change the tide from up here.

Then it goes downhill.

"Llwyd's spotted Uther!" Merlin suddenly shouts urgently, indicating to the King with one hand whilst holding a shield over a family with the other. "He's heading towards him!"

"I'll take over here, help my father," Arthur replies quickly, and pushing his hand against Merlin's skin to draw more power. He flicks his hand and the bandit attacking the family is hurled against a wall, and he can hear the bones crunching satisfactorily even from this great height. He glances at his father, and he can see the shimmering golden barrier in front of him, keeping him away. He hopes that Uther realises what it is.

"Merlin, you have to destroy the shields on the sorcerers!" Gaius calls from the other side of the tower, and Arthur can see that he's right. Because for every bandits that the knights kill or sorcerer that they knock down, Llwyd's men are slaughtering twice as many innocent people. Merlin ducks as a fireball is shot up at him, and turns to fix Arthur with an intense gaze.

"I'll need to use your magic – it's the only way that I'll be powerful enough."

"How much?" he asks as he holds his hand out and his warlock shrugs.

"Just enough. Not all of it, don't worry. Just… relax. You too, Gaius."

Arthur wonder briefly what he means by that, but then there's the sudden spark and flare within him that he's missed and means that he's joined once again to Merlin. And it's not like the brief times when one touches the other for slight access – this time, he's offering up everything to Merlin. It feels right.

He can literally _see_ the magic flowing from him, gliding through the air in twists and swirls and flashes of red, seeping into Merlin's body and strengthening him. And then he notices that there isn't just red surrounding his advisor – there's blue, too, and purple, and Morgana looks just as shocked as he does when she notices the violet sparks leaving her chest.

"_Ábríete __eallgréneu_!" Merlin yells, and the shields of Pryderi's sorcerers spark and shimmer, but hold. He tries again, and this time one of the green-clad men falls, but no more. Arthur feels a wave of despair well up inside him, and flinches as his shield over the two of them shudders under a new attack.

"It's not enough!" Merlin cries over the screams and shouts, the coloured magic whipping around his body faster and faster and causing a wind to form. "I need more!"

"There is no more!" Arthur replies with a grunt, edging closer to him and reaching out with one hand. "Just take all mine, I'll be fine!"

"I'll kill you!" Merlin retorts, eyes blazing, and Arthur's about to say that he doesn't care, so long as the warlock can save Camelot, but Merlin grabs his head with one glowing hand and crushes their lips together in a bruising kiss, violent and full of everything that they haven't said. Arthur can feel the magic filling his warlock, and it stings his lips. Merlin releases him with a growl. "I am never doing that. Don't ever suggest it again."

Arthur nods, and peers over the battlements to look for Llwyd. He's encircled in a shimmering sphere of green, disposing of Arthur's nights flicks of his hands. There's no hope if Merlin can't do this – and there's no more magic to use. He closes his eyes.

Then a thought hits him – the remnants of a dream, perhaps, he's not sure. And he doesn't know how he knows it, but he's sure that it will work. He whirls around to grab his advisor's arm.

"Merlin! The dragon!"

The warlock just looks at him, completely confused with his eyes burning brightly, then realisation hits him and his face hardens.

"Hold on to me," he says quietly as the miniature hurricane whips around them, and Arthur does. He moves to stand behind Merlin, wrapping his arms securely around his chest, and he can feel the power thrumming through this lean body. Then Merlin whispers one word, and when Arthur looks down, he can see tiny shafts of a bright white light shooting up from between the stones.

"It's working!" he shouts in Merlin's ear, and he feels his advisor tense.

Then the blinding light explodes through the ground and directly into Merlin, winding its way up his legs and into his chest, the sheer intensity making his advisor rock. Merlin raises his hands, finger splayed and on fire, and takes a deep breath.

"_Ábríete __eallgréneu_!" he roars, and this time, Arthur knows that it's enough.

His world explodes in a kaleidoscope of white and red and gold and blue and purple, and all he can do is hold onto Merlin as he rides out this storm.

Arthur coughs as he pulls himself up from the blackened floor, dust in his lungs, and blinks blood from his eyes. He hauls himself upright and strains to see over the battlements.

Llwyd's men lie on the floor, burned and flailing in pain. A few are still standing, but not shielded, and his knights are making short work of them. He breathes a sigh of relief, and turns to find Merlin.

His warlock is leaning against the wall, back to Arthur, and breathing heavily. His hands are red raw where the magic exited, and he's shaking.

"Are you OK?" Arthur asks quietly, taking a step forward, and Merlin takes a step away.

"I'm fine. Just tired," he replies shortly, looking down at the ground and Arthur smiles faintly.

"Come on," he says fondly, reaching out one hand, but his advisor flinches away from him and he feels his face contort into a frown. "Merlin, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm _fine_," he retorts tightly, and Arthur takes another step towards him.

"Merlin," he says firmly, grabbing at the warlock's shoulder as he twists away. "Merlin, _look_ at me!"

"I can't!" his advisor snarls, wrenching his arm out of Arthur's grip and takes an unsteady step forward, banging his hip against the turret. An anguished scream rises up to them from far below.

"Come here," Arthur orders, his voice cold and sharp, and Merlin falters slightly before attempting to continue. He takes another step, hit the wall more solidly this time, and loses his footing.

Arthur's there and catching him before he hurts himself further and eases him to the ground, hands gentle on his bruised skin, wishing that he knew some spell to help soothe his muscles.

"Merlin, please," he whispers, taking the warlock's face in his hands and turning it towards himself. His advisor doesn't resist this time, and Arthur takes in his expression. He looks ashamed, terrified, and utterly exhausted. His scars are shining in the burning light, a million tiny stars over his cheeks, and his lips is split, blood drying dark and hard.

And then his eyes are bright and golden – and glazed, unseeing, damaged beyond repair and Arthur can feel the horror and despair welling up within him as Merlin stares beyond him, unfocused, and tries to turn his head away.

"I told you," he replies unevenly, hands grasping Arthur's forearms tight enough to be painful. "I _can't_."

Arthur chokes back on a sob as he pulls Merlin against his chest, marked and scarred and blind, and rocks them both slowly. He can hear soldiers running back and forth, hear their fear, and he wants to tell them that it's over but he can't speak. His mind has shut down, and all he's aware of is Merlin in his arms. But even that's not enough.

As the rain pours down around them, washing away the blood, Arthur cries.

_Completion, I'll be waiting  
For the end of my broken heart  
_


	11. Don't Close Your Eyes

_Don't Close Your Eyes_

Arthur recalls little and understands less of the battle's aftermath.

He remembers gathering Merlin in his arms, the warlock drained and weakened. He remembers seeing Morgana embracing Gwen in the courtyard, and looking away from the intimate moment. He remembers Gaius hurrying out to tend to the wounded. He remembers his father approaching him in the corridor, and he remembers turning away.

He remembers helping his advisor into his rooms, by which point Merlin was nearly unconscious. He remembers stripping both of them and healing the warlock as best he could, hands carefully avoiding the large black marking. He remembers easing Merlin into his bed, strained limbs between cool sheets, and curling next to him.

Mostly, he remembers crying.

When Arthur wakes several hours later, it's to find that it's dark outside and Merlin is fast asleep – or perhaps just passed out from the day's events – and there is a guard banging on his door. He doesn't need to ask what he's come for.

He slides from the bed silently and dresses quickly, leaning down to brush his lips across Merlin's closed eyelids before leaving the room.

He just wants this to be over.

"I had always valued Pryderi as a close friend. It appears that my judgement was erroneous and for that, I apologise to you, Arthur."

"I'm not the one that you should be apologising to," Arthur replies sullenly, glaring at the goblet of restorative that Gaius had thrust in his hand when he walked through the door. Uther pulls a face.

"You're talking of your manservant, I presume?"

There's a clatter as the Prince slams the goblet down on the table.

"He is _so_ much more than that, to Camelot and to me," he snarls, standing from his chair and rounding on his father. He can feel the magic crackling in the air around himself. Uther's scowl deepens, and he takes a step forward.

"It is his fault, and his alone, that I allowed magic to return to this kingdom. And therefore, it is his fault that Pryderi was brave enough to commit such atrocities here. He will be punished for this, and the ban on magic shall be reinforced immediately."

"You'll not touch a hair on Merlin's head," Arthur growls, and the Hall seems to fall into silence around him and his father, and the people nearby slow to a halt. The Prince is reminded painfully of that fateful Midsummer Feast, and he feels slightly ill.

"Arthur, stop it," Uther says warningly, a glint in his eye, and Arthur draws himself up to his full height.

"Merlin is a hero, and he cannot help his magic – he was born with it. He stayed here and protected me for several months right under your nose, risking revealing himself and being executed every day. He has saved my life, and Morgana's, and yours, many times in the past and just a few hours ago he allowed himself to be blinded protecting this city. And I will _not_ see him punished."

And Uther doesn't seem to know what to say to that – but it soon becomes irrelevant, because the doors open behind them and time speeds back up again, and Merlin walks through the door with his head held high and purpose in his stride.

"Merlin!" he exclaims in shock, hurrying to take his hand and lead him across the room because otherwise he'll fall over, and that will only end badly – but then he sees his warlock's smile, his steady steps, and slows to a halt.

"Arthur. You're glowing," Merlin says warmly, and as he approaches the Prince can see that his eyes are not healed but just as glazed as when he shut them earlier. He glances warily back at his father.

"I thought you were blind," Arthur says in a low voice, reaching out one hand to grip his advisor's elbow, and Merlin's smile seems to grow.

"Oh, I am," he replies mildly, tilting his head to one side. "But I don't need eyes to see, prat."

Arthur hears Uther grunt in disapproval behind him, but he doesn't care. Merlin is safe, and somehow he can _see_, and that's all that really matters. Even if he doesn't understand it.

"I don't understand. You can see me? But your eyes are damaged beyond repair, yes? So how is this possible?"

"Because I'm a creature of magic, Arthur, and I don't work like other people," he explains patiently, and Arthur knows that he's asking too many questions but he can't wrap his head around this. Just hours ago he watched Merlin stumbled and fall, unable to orientate himself, and now – now, it's as though it never happened. But Arthur can't look away from his face, scars shining in the torchlight.

"But your _eyes_…"

"You're not getting it," he says gently, a soft smile creeping onto his lips. "I can still _see_ you – or at least, the magic in you. You're kind of a figure of burning red sparks and glows, and there's a bit of gold in there too. Which I ought to remove. But I can see details too, it's brilliant, it's… um. Hard to explain?"

"And the others?"

"Different colours. But I can still see Gwen, and your father, and all the objects around me. Because it's magic that I can see, and there's magic in the earth and water and _everywhere_. It's just a different way of seeing."

"And what, you didn't think to tell me this before?" Arthur points out, and Merlin shrugs. And he seems so relaxed, so completely at peace with the world, that the Prince feels something calm within himself.

"This is only since I woke up. Before, there was just nothing. But then I opened my eyes… and seriously, you can't begin to imagine how it felt. I thought I'd lost my sight forever!"

"So did I."

Arthur's not sure if it's his expression or tone that makes Merlin's smile fade, but he can't bring himself put on a brave face. This is all too much, too fast, and it's taking its toll. He sighs.

"For the past week, you've been slipping away from me. I thought I'd lost you."

And with that, Merlin reaches out and pulls him into a tight embrace with no regard for Uther, or Gaius, or Morgana, and any of the guards lining the walls. Arthur realises, too, that he doesn't care either – because he needs Uther to see how much they mean to each other, to what lengths they would go to protect each other.

He needs his father to see just how much he loves Merlin.

"I thought he was going to have a coronary," Merlin chortles a little while later as they stand on the top of the tallest tower again, surveying the damage. The warlock had merely whispered a few words to repair the stonework as they can taken the last step, and Ayden circles above them like a sentry.

"Yes, well. Whilst I'm glad that you didn't announce to all and sundry the exact nature of our relationship, I have no doubt that we'll be the talk of the castle by dawn," he replies dryly, and Merlin just grins, leaning to bump shoulder with the Prince. The stars are out in full force tonight, and the town is lit with the burning of torches.

"And you're fine with this? This new magic eyes thing?" his warlock asks, clearly trying for a conversational tone, but there's still the underlying link from the battle and Arthur can feel his apprehension. He smiles, and wraps one arm around Merlin's waist.

"Why on earth would I not be fine with it?" he replies with a smirk, turning to press a kiss to Merlin's jaw, and his advisor squirms slightly.

"Well, it's – you know. A bit freakish, really."

"Not much of a change then, really."

"Hah hah. You're hilarious."

"I like to think so."

Merlin digs his elbow into the Prince's ribs and turns in his half-embrace, arms coming up to loop around Arthur's neck. And Arthur's hand rest on Merlin's hips as though they belong there.

"You're too good to me," the warlock says with a faint sigh, and his eyes aren't looking at him even though he's facing him. Arthur swallows.

"You're delusional, Merlin," he says firmly, pulling his advisor closer to him. "But we're not discussing that now, because I seem to remember you saying that there was some of your magic left in me that you needed to remove. Yes?"

Merlin grins, and dazzling grin, and closes the small gap to kiss him.

Arthur's whole world explodes.

At first, there's darkness – but then from the black comes the brightest light that he's ever seen, brighter than the sun and brighter than the enormous wave of magic from the dragon. And it's gold, and it's swirling and sparking and crackling around him, and he pulls away from Merlin and takes a step back.

It's his warlock that's giving off the light.

"Is this… what you see?" he asks, nearly tripping over his tongue, and the burning figure smiles. Of course, it's a shape made of magic so there's no _real_ smile, but somehow Arthur knows. He can't describe it.

"Not too bad really, is it?"

Arthur shakes his head slowly, looking out of the town. The whole town is alive with magic, and even as he looks at it and wonders what it all means, he understands each different whirl of colour perfectly. He hears a shriek and looks up in time to see a flash of silver sparks shoot through the air, leaving a faint trail that quickly fades as Ayden hurtles past.

Then Merlin releases his hand, and his work goes back to normal. And he can't work out which one he prefers. He feels somewhat overwhelmed, as though his head's about to explode because there's just so much magic all around him and _in_ him, and he's got a little bit of a headache so he squeezes his eyes shut and says the first thing that comes to mind.

"I love you."

There's a pause that drags out into a silence, and Arthur winces as he realises that he's only ever said this once before when his mind was hazy in the post-coitus glow, and he's not sure if Merlin even remembers. He grimaces and cracks his eyes open. And Merlin is smiling, his face half-lit by moonlight, and full of love and gratitude and beauty in front of him.

"I love you too," he whispers, and pulls his head down with one hand for a chaste kiss, the other resting over his heart. "There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

Arthur smiles, and presses his forehead against Merlin's. Some part of him wishes that they could stay like this for eternity, and never have to face the harsh reality of the world below. He feels whole, and at peace.

"Never leave me," he murmurs, lips brushing over Merlin's, and the warlock shakes his head, turning to face out across the town and pulling Arthur around so that he's looking too. He gestures widely, and Arthur wonders what he can see.

"I'll still be here when you're King. All this will be yours, one day."

The Prince shakes his head.

"It'll be ours."

Arthur's hand finds Merlin's in the dark and their fingers twine together, embers trailing across the skin and in their hearts.

Mothers wake their children that night as gold and red stars shoot across the skies in a perfect, intricate, and entwined dance.

They don't fade.

_You and me we can light up the sky_

_If you stay by my side_

_We can rule the world_

_end._


End file.
